


A Changed Man

by loveofmylonglife



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveofmylonglife/pseuds/loveofmylonglife
Summary: At a ball, Ross is decidedly unhappy at George's courting of Elizabeth. So he does what he does best when he sees George. Subtitled 'Ross being The Most Extra.' Set in S1.





	

It was late. It was cold. And he wanted to sleep. He didn’t mean to sound childish but toiling all day in the mine didn’t really put him in the mood to suffer fools happily, which was exactly what a ball was about. To him, anyway.  
He sighed as he took another glass of port, ditching his permanent frown to smile encouragingly at his fiery haired wife from across the room. She clearly didn’t need any encouragement as she mingled with more confidence than he’d ever seen from her before. It was late, past dinner now and he could tell Demelza had become more comfortable with the environment. She no longer needed to be on his arm to speak adequately to the other guests and by this time, the gathering had self-segregated easily as was the norm at these sort of events. The women spoke and laughed in one room while in an adjoining room, the men sat at card tables and gambled money they didn’t have.  
Ross leaned against the wall and sipped his whisky, feeling tight and uncomfortable in his formalwear. He’d done enough networking for the evening and the only reason he’d come to such an occasion was to satisfy Demelza. The only people he was interested in speaking to were those who could in some way aid him with the mine or shareholders in Carnmore, but none such persons were present here therefore in Ross’ mind, the entire evening was irrelevant. He wasn’t quite drunk yet but Francis definitely was and Ross watched with a sour face as he was led off to the card tables by men he didn’t recognise. His cousin was jovial enough and red in the face, laughing a little too much. Ross rested his head back against the wall as he watched Elizabeth walk after Francis, the feathers in her hair trembling as she tried to slow her pace so as not to look awkward.  
Ross watched as she attempted to call her husband’s name but of course, Francis was none the wiser. She paused halfway across the room and looked around to make sure no one was staring at her before smoothing down the pale pink satin of her dress and resuming polite but uneasy conversation with one Ruth Treneglos. Ross considered going into the card room to convince Francis to part with the tables but in his current state, was afraid he’d take a seat for a little too long.  
It was dark and cold outside and he could feel the chill breeze washing over his face as he stepped towards the garden, taking a moment to look out into the void of darkness. He was grateful for the air, he always found balls like this too hot and stuffy for his liking but soon someone accosted him with a courteous smile, wishing him a merry Christmas even though the fateful day itself was still weeks away. Ross involved himself involuntarily in mingling again and the fat old man who had spoken to him seemed to have set off a chain reaction of people, both women and men, eager to speak to him.  
One eye, however, rested firmly on Elizabeth, who seemed to be slowly losing the will to live as she, too, was confronted by lady after lady. She took compliments graciously but he could tell her primary concern was seeing how badly Francis was losing at cards and which part of her house he’d laid on the table tonight. Moments later, George swept easily out of the card room and towards Elizabeth, no doubt giving her the necessary report. Ross’ jaw clenched at the sight of him and he tried to contain the urge to walk out. It would be cruel to leave Demelza like that, besides he was engaged in conversation with a gaggle of men who were enquiring about Wheal Leisure. Prospective shareholders were a rare find and he should do everything he could to make the mine look like a good investment but he didn’t really feel like advertising anything right now.  
He tried to focus on the men in front of him that were frankly too close for comfort but peeked between them to spy George still standing next to Elizabeth, his head inclined towards her. He tried to ignore it for a while but he couldn’t ignore how frustrated he began to get at the image. He wondered what they were talking about but he put it to the back of his mind, scanning the room and smiling courteously at Mr Tonkin. He decided it would be worth speaking to him about his feelings on Wheal Leisure, the rational part of his brain said. The other part of his brain reprimanded him for caring whether the school bully spoke to another man’s wife or not. He watched George walk Elizabeth out of the open side of the ball room, outside into the covered stone pavilion.  
“I think it might be advisable not to concern yourself with Francis’ recreational activities,” said George smoothly, watching Elizabeth try to peek behind him surreptitiously into the card room.  
“I think I should—“  
“I shall, of course, make certain that Francis isn’t reckless. Do not trouble yourself with it.”  
Elizabeth turned her gaze from the card room to George in surprise. It was late but he had no drink in his hand so couldn’t blame his lack of insight on a drunken stupor, though that was what she’d become used to over the last few months.  
“George, with all respect, he is my husband and I think I am entitled to trouble myself with his welfare.”  
Ross observed the exchange as he walked around the room with his glass of whisky, watching Elizabeth become more and more perplexed by George’s behaviour but still try to keep a courteous demeanour. The more George spoke, the tighter Ross’ jaw clenched. Elizabeth had been through enough with Francis’ behaviour lately, she didn’t need George adding to it. He was aware he was making excuses, getting angry on Elizabeth’s behalf rather than admit to himself the real reason for his frustration.  
George had no business speaking to Elizabeth and especially not at a function like this. He was being unusually charming, fetching her a drink and calling her mother over, no doubt to spout fallacies about how lovely she looked; a level of simpering Ross could never fall to. He remembered a ball, similar to this one, he’d attended as a teenager and had refused to compliment Mrs Chynoweth after she’d forcibly torn Elizabeth’s hand out of his. The same forced smile had appeared on her face as she tried to regain decorum after her fit of rage, telling Ross that he looked very smart in his uniform and a young man like him should be mingling with all the other eligible young ladies. The other ones, not her own daughter. Elizabeth had attempted to argue with her mother but she finished the conversation definitively, dragging Elizabeth away with such force that a bruise appeared on her wrist the next day.  
Mrs Chynoweth hovered around her daughter similarly now, leaning against the doorway, laughing at each of George’s foolish words while Elizabeth looked on with a forced smile she’d inherited from her mother. She was clearly uncomfortable, pausing to smooth down her dress again. Her head began to ache with the weight of the complex hairstyle her maid had insisted she wear this evening and even she admitted the feathers were a bit much. They were Francis’ choice; he’d walked in on her unannounced as she was getting ready and torn a box from the cupboard, tossing it in front of her and informing her she must look glamorous and fashionable. He was drunk already before reaching the venue and any argument from her side wasn’t listened to. She didn’t wish to dress up so much and felt like a fool, yet George was complimenting her as if she’d recently arrived from London with the latest fashions. He knew full well that she was wearing a made over dress and she couldn’t tell whether he was complimenting her honestly or to make her feel horrible. Either way, it was working. It was cold outside and the chill seemed to have seeped inside the layers of her gown. She wanted to go back inside.  
As her mother chatted merrily to George, Elizabeth’s gaze swept from the card tables to the rest of the ballroom. There was no chance of finding Francis now and it was so late that she didn’t even wish to know what he had or hadn’t won tonight. The card room was raucous, she could hear it from here and wasn’t interested anymore. It was too cold to focus on anything now and she felt like resigning herself to the fact. Her head ached and she scrunched her eyes shut, opening them again to see if it made any difference to the pounding in her head. Her temples felt like they were burning and all she wanted to be was done with this awful evening, go home and crawl into her bed and sleep. As she opened her eyes to look around, she caught the one moment of stillness in the people blurring endlessly inside. Ross was leaning against the wall, staring right at her. His gaze was intense and piercing as always and his posture nonchalant as he lazily brought his glass to his lips. Elizabeth looked down at herself and then back at him, her breath coming in odd bursts as she peeked inside to see where Demelza was.  
She never really knew what to do when Ross looked at her like that. It was too direct, too penetrating, too personal. It was as if he could see right through her polite smiles and curtseys and he wanted none of that. He wanted Elizabeth as she was and she began to feel heavy as she realised she could never give him that. He would never be able to have her as she was now or as she had been before. Everything was different now, couldn’t he see that? They’d grown up, they were both married and attending this ball with their spouses. It made no difference that her husband was playing the part of a drunken fool but Demelza deserved more than a man who would spend an entire evening staring at someone other than his wife. The way he looked at her made her shiver, made her head throb harder. There was something primal, primitive almost about his gaze, the way it enveloped her, the way it seemed to ward off others who came near her. There wasn’t a man in the room that wasn’t speaking about how Ross had been looking at her all night and George was the only one who seemed to be oblivious to it, or was pretending to be so.  
He had to be devoid of his senses not to see the way Ross’ eyes focused on Elizabeth and flitted between them as if he were watching a hunt take place. She knew his enmity with George and wished one of the men would leave the room. She was the only one to notice the tension in Ross’ gaze and George himself wasn’t even looking. Elizabeth turned away quickly, sure that someone would notice she was looking at Ross and he was looking back, but she was faced instantly with George and her mother.  
“Elizabeth, you must tell George about your talent with the harp,” suggested her mother in an overly saccharine tone, making Elizabeth blanch a little. George straightened his red velvet waistcoat and smiled at her, a smile which never quite reached his eyes.  
“Yes, I’ve heard a lot about it from your dear mother. I regret I haven’t watched you play.”  
Elizabeth felt like she was cutting a smile into her face as she addressed him, her eyes flicking back to Ross.  
“You must come to Trenwith some time, I should be glad to play.”  
“Of course. I have a great appreciation for your talents, I do hope I can see more of them.”  
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply but before she could, her mother gestured to the musicians at the side of the room.  
“Perhaps a dance is in order. It’s late the evening but—“  
“What a wonderful idea, Mrs Chynoweth. Besides, I imagine it would go some way to occupying you, Elizabeth.”  
George attempted an easy smile as Mrs Chynoweth swept inside to start the music and Elizabeth seized up in discomfort. Dancing was the last thing she wanted to do and not with George, with anyone but George. She tried to open her mouth to decline the invitation but it seemed that every time she spoke, she was cut off by someone or something. Before she could figure out what to say, George took her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss on her knuckles as was common. She shivered at the touch of his lips, cold and thin against her pale skin and at once, looked over at Ross whose eyes flashed warningly. The look made her freeze and her skin began to prickle at the sharpness in his gaze. It was no longer heated, but blazing and angry and red. The very sight of George’s hand touching hers, his lips on her skin electrified him and filled him full to bursting with a rage so potent he began to tremble. He’d had enough of this, of spending his evening watching George leering over Elizabeth, paying her false compliments, touching her as if he had a right to her. He didn’t have a right to her, nor did anyone else.  
He was at the end of his tether and as soon as George took her hand more firmly, intending to pull her into the ballroom, Ross appeared as if he’d been nearby all this time.  
“George.”  
Elizabeth turned harshly at the sound of Ross’ voice and saw him standing close but not looking at her. His eyes were locked on George, who turned around slowly with a small smile on his face. He looked Ross up and down as he sipped the last of his whisky, setting the glass aside to step outside and address George properly. He stood with his boots shoulder width apart, towering above George almost, his curls as wild as the dangerous look in his eyes. George’s mouth curled up in a sneer so cruel it surprised Elizabeth.  
“Ross. It’s a pleasure to see you at such an event.”  
“Likewise. What is your business here?”  
“Business? I come for no business, I come merely to celebrate the festive season.”  
Elizabeth looked between them cautiously. The three of them were outside, detached from the guests. No one else seemed to notice how they circled each other like lions in a cage. Ross didn’t reply and the pause was painful as they looked at each other, the space between them fizzing like static. Elizabeth licked her lips, pressing them together to restraint herself before turning to George.  
“The music has started, shall we—“  
“Elizabeth. Let’s leave the men to their talk.”  
She felt a firm grip close around her wrist and looked down to see her mother’s unmistakeable hand. Ross flicked his gaze down too, seeing Mrs Chynoweth’s wrinkled, claw-like hand vicing its way around Elizabeth’s delicate wrist. She looked helplessly between the two men, reluctant to leave the stand off as her mother pulled her away in much the same way as she did the last time Ross had seen her. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at the way Ross seemed to be glaring at her too as she walked away, but he was glad to be left alone with George.  
“Why are you here, George?”  
“For the same reason you are,” he replied smoothly, looking down to adjust his waistcoat once more.  
“I’m here to accompany my wife.”  
“Ah, is that what you’re doing?” George couldn’t disguise the derisiveness in his speech as he appraised Ross sourly, “only it seems to me, and everyone else here that you’ve spent the better part of these hours in the pursuit of a lady that is decidedly not your wife.”  
Ross narrowed his eyes instantly, shocked that this was what George wanted to speak about. He took a step forward, his shoulders swinging menacingly as he never once moved his gaze away from George’s. The man stood tall and unintimidated, his hands clasped behind his back.  
“And what of your pursuit of her? Do you not think it unseemly to be paying such close attention to the wife of a man you’ve encouraged into ruin? Or is that just how you work, George? Your attentions were clearly making the lady uncomfortable. I suggest you don’t try them again.”  
Ross’ voice was low and deep, his words leaving slowly from his lips as if he was speaking to a child. Being talked down to wasn’t something George was fond of and the smile that had previously curled his lips turned deliciously sour as he levelled Ross’ gaze with his own. Elizabeth watched them outside nervously, turning her head to look for Demelza, hoping to see a streak of fiery red among the crowd. She hoped she’d be able to diffuse the situation but she soon enough realised that it was hopeless.  
“Why does her comfort suddenly hold such significance for you?” asked George, stepping forward to match Ross’ stance, his hands still clasped behind his back, “I believe her comfort is best left to her husband and myself, her family’s creditor. You do realise Elizabeth has a family? As do you. You’d do well to remember that.”  
George inclined his head a fraction by way of a goodbye and locked eyes with Ross for the last time, stepping aside to walk past him, but the fire ignited in Ross wouldn’t be doused so easily. Ross was never one to step aside and this wasn’t any different. As George made to leave, Ross gripped his forearm easily and swung him around to face him again. George seemed unperturbed by this and instead looked down to where Ross was holding his arm, shrugging it off carelessly as if a fly had landed on it. It had gone past the point of no return for Ross and he saw nothing in the room but George. Everything else melted away and he didn’t care whether he was making an exhibition of himself or not. It would be worth it to take George down a peg.  
“Since when have you been concerned about Francis’ family? Since he started gambling his inheritance away like a fool? Some friend you are. Your greed has caused the ruin of a respectable man and dragged his family down with it! Have you no shame?!”  
Ross was spitting the words at George now, his voice raised as Elizabeth looked on in horror. Her feel felt frozen to the ground as Ross began to air her family’s dirty laundry in public. Calling her husband a fool, talking of the state to which they had sunk at Trenwith, it made her cheeks burn in humiliation. She felt like fetching Francis from the card room, picking him up by his hair and dragging him out to speak to the two childish men before her, but she realised firstly that she had no energy to do so and secondly, that he was just as much of a child, if not more.  
“Shame and greed?” asked George, his calm exterior cracking a little as he turned to face Ross fully, “You have the nerve to speak of my shame and greed? And what of yours? If you had an ounce of shame you would lower your gaze in the presence of another man’s wife, yet perhaps you greed prevents you from doing so. Why be content with one woman when you could have two?”  
Ross took a moment to process the vile words tripping from George’s lips like silk. The shock that passed over his features seemed to delight George and by this point, Elizabeth had had enough. She turned to make her way into the card room to fetch Francis but this time, to leave the house altogether.  
“What did you say?” asked Ross, stepping forward and narrowing his eyes as if he were asking a genuine question. Both of them knew he wasn’t, and George couldn’t resist taunting an already desperate man further. Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she watched Ross ready himself like a panther, squaring his broad shoulders up to George’s small frame, flexing his arms until they strained uncomfortably against the velvet of his sleeves.  
“I said why be content with one woman when you could have two? That’s what you really want, isn’t it, Ross? A kitchen maid wife and a high born mistress.”  
The fist that met George’s face had been a long time coming and when it landed, a sharp crack was heard that made everyone in the immediate vicinity of the doorway turn and stare. George found himself face down on the stone floor, cold and hard against his rapidly bruising cheek. It hurt more than he had imagined and he gritted his teeth, turning around to face Ross who was standing exactly where had been before, a force to be reckoned with. His eyes blazed dangerously and his hands made fists by his side, his hair tossed about his face wildly. People standing by the doorway were staring between Ross and George as if they were watching two gladiators spar for their amusement.  
Ross strode over to George and swept him up in his fists in one smooth motion, holding him by the collar until he was mere millimetres away from his face. George could feel his breath hot against his face, see the way his teeth gritted and his jaw tightened as Ross searched his face for a hint of shame.  
“Never speak those words to me again, not of Demelza and not of Elizabeth,” his voice lowered to barely a whisper so only George could hear, “and if I see you sniffing around Elizabeth again, I’ll beat you like the dog you are.”  
He let George’s collar go with a jerk, making him stumble with the force. George didn’t back down, stepping up close as Ross had done to him not moments before. Elizabeth returned from her unsuccessful quest to the card room to see the two men squaring up to each other and stopped in her tracks. Her mother turned to look at her and grasped her wrist again, but Elizabeth shook her hand away forcefully, grasping her skirts so tight her knuckles paled, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her. George’s voice was low and quiet as he locked eyes with Ross. He gritted his teeth as he stared George down, aware that everyone in the room was watching them like a circus show.  
“A woman that has given her affections so freely to one man, and then another, what’s to stop her from attending on a third?”  
The blow to George’s face didn’t floor him this time, but elicited a cry from the opposite side of the room. George stumbled again, steadying himself as Elizabeth rushed across the room and outside to Ross, her heart thudding in her ears.  
“Ross! Ross, stop this foolish behaviour right away!”  
Ross ignored her completely and sniffed, inhaling as George strode towards him like a tiger ready to pounce. Ross tore off his waistcoat and neckcloth, tossing it aside as he met George with repeated blows to the face, landing on his jaw and temple as he tried in vain to defend himself. By this time, guests had made their way outside hearing the commotion and were watching in shock as the two men grappled, moving from the pavilion into the path that led towards the grass. The crowd’s excited and horrified whispers mixed with the crunching of the men’s boots on the gravel and the wet, heavy sound their fists made as they swung at each other. Elizabeth tried to speak but nothing was coming and she turned to see Demelza staring with similar horror at the pair of them. Her fan hung limply from her hand as she saw her husband ducking to avoid a blow from George and sheer terror rose in her like bile, making her feel weak and sick. Of all the nights to pick a fight, of all the places to pick a fight, this was the worst Ross could possibly have chosen.  
“Ross! George, please, both of you! Stop it! Stop this foolishness!”  
Demelza watched as Elizabeth strode forward from the pavilion and out into the darkness, her cries piercing the air, attempting to get between the two men and push them apart. The pale satin of her gown rustled around her elegantly as she tried to place a hand on both their chests, prying them apart, but she was no match for their strength as they continued to swing punches at each other like they were deranged.  
“Do not involve yourself in this, Elizabeth!” warned Ross breathlessly, stepping away only to move aside and strike George again, making her flinch. She watched him wipe blood away from his lip, a cut on his temple already dripping down his cheek.  
She ignored him as he’d ignored her before and attempted to get between them again, trying to get enough purchase on the floor to steady herself, using all the strength she had in her arms to push them apart again. She felt herself caught between them as they grappled and gave up, stepping back in time to allow Ross to grasp George by the throat, landing a vicious blow on his temple which knocked him to the ground.  
The feral nature of Ross’ behaviour stunned her and she stepped back instinctively, her breath appearing before her in shuddering gasps as she watched Ross inhaled and exhale, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He watched George attempt to get up, blood seeping from his nostrils and mouth. Contempt rose like venom in his mouth and he spat harshly on the gravel as George slumped and attempted to recover himself again. He would get the better of him tonight, he was sure of it.  
“Ross,” she whispered weakly, unsure of what to say. His dark eyes flashed dangerously as he turned to her and her entire body shook with the force of his gaze. There was something about the way the chill air settled visibly around him, like an aura or a halo around his formless body, as if he was radiating a dangerous passion that would ignite any minute; boots shoulder width apart, his shirt billowing around him as he stood, broad shouldered. His eyes sparkled with white heat as he clenched his fists, the sharp line of his jaw clenching and unclenching as he cornered her with his look. She felt like a deer, caught and frozen to the spot, like she always did when he looked at her. But she’d never seen such ferocity, such rage in his eyes until now. She wondered what George had said to elicit such fury in the man she loved so dearly.  
“It’s too far gone now,” he said finally, “we’ll settle this right here, right now.”  
“Yes, we shall.”  
Elizabeth and Ross both turned to see George, now standing up, retrieving something from inside his creased waistcoat. Gasps erupted from the crowd as George drew a pistol, trembling as he held it out towards Ross. His entire body seemed to trembled and his breath made small clouds in front of him as Elizabeth’s eyes widened, panic flooding her in waves that made her knees weak.  
A cry of Ross’ name reverberated from the other end of the garden and Elizabeth turned to see Demelza running across the grass, but stopping halfway through as her own eyes widened too. Elizabeth turned back quickly to see what she was looking at and stared at George incredulously, unable to believe the sight in front of her eyes until her terrified gaze flicked to where Ross had moved in the peripheries of her vision, ducking down to dig into the waistcoat he’d carelessly tossed on the floor. Elizabeth’s blood began to boil in her ears as she watched Ross retrieve his own pistol and square it at George in the same way. Ross’ hand shook less, his finger poised steadily on the trigger, the gun in a careful grip. There was no hesitation from his side and George could see it. Ross’ eye was steady as he took aim and held it there, waiting for a sign, a movement from the opposite side.  
There was no sound from the crowd now and Elizabeth could hear nothing but her shallow breathing, the chill of the night biting at her exposed skin like claws. She wondered whether she was dreaming as she looked from George to Ross, both men standing adamantly on the gravel, braced and ready to fire a bullet at each other, to kill each other. And to what end? She heard George inhale as he steadied his hand and she suddenly realised what was about to happen. In an instant, she stepped in front of Ross so neither man could fire without hurting her. Her mother called her name from the door but Elizabeth ignored it.  
“George,” she whispered, attempting to force some measure of calm into her voice, “George, I beg of you, contain yourself. Think of what you’re doing, this isn’t the way to resolve any—“  
“Move aside, Elizabeth.”  
His voice was high pitched but steady and Elizabeth attempted to lock eyes with him, to capture his gaze and hold it just for a moment, but she knew it was futile. He was staring past her at Ross so she turned to face him, trying to hold his gaze too. Both men ignored her, focusing instead on each other but she knew Ross was more likely to heed her.  
“Ross, please, stop this foolishness. Ross, please!”  
Ross turned his gaze to her in a surprise he didn’t let show on his face. He’d never heard her beg like that before, the tone of her voice so desperate, so childish almost. He remembered teasing her as a boy, taking her book as she’d been reading it on a bench and running away with it while she chased him, crying the same words between laughter. Ross, please. Except this time, it was punctuated by erratic breathing, swallowing a sob rather than laughter. The haze of fury that had fallen over his mind began to lift a little as he took her in for the first time that night. She was standing between them, hands grasping her skirts tightly, her elaborate hairstyle coming undone from the struggle to part them, her skin so pale it looked like ice and her eyes, her beautiful, sad eyes lined with redness and tears spilling onto her cheeks. Desperation was etched across her face as she raised her eyebrows, silently willing Ross to listen.  
He gritted his teeth as he flicked his eyes back to George, who hadn’t lowered his weapon. He didn’t know how to tell Elizabeth this wasn’t about her anymore. It wasn’t about Demelza, it wasn’t about Elizabeth, it was about him and George and the bottomless, furious, vicious rage he felt for the man. Since adolescence, George had attempted to steal everything from Ross and he knew, he knew Elizabeth wasn’t his anymore but she had been once and she always would be, in a tiny corner of his heart. He knew he had no right over her anymore and George knew it too. He didn’t believe George would ever act on his threats but to see him merely touch Elizabeth’s hand had enraged him, couldn’t she understand that? Just the memory of the image filled his chest with heat and he bared his teeth like a tiger, raising his arm higher to take aim at George.  
“Ross, please.”  
It was barely a whisper now, but it had no effect on Ross anymore, not when he was so incensed once more. The figure of Elizabeth between them irritated him, made him unable to get a clear shot at his target and he raised his other arm, making to push her out of the way until a voice was heard, accompanied by footsteps across the gravel.  
“George. That’s quite enough now.”  
Cary Warleggan strode over imperiously to his nephew, seemingly unperturbed by the scene before him. George didn’t react, his lips pressed together as he stared over his pistol at Ross, his finger pressing lightly against the trigger but not quite pulling. Ross didn’t take his eyes off his opponent either, his sights fixed as he watched George closely for any sign of movement, any intention to shoot. He could scan the micromovements George made, the way his boots inched hesitantly on the floor, the way his hand trembled every so slightly, making his sights uncertain.  
“George, I think that’s quite enou—“  
A shot rang deafeningly across the garden and Elizabeth cried out Ross’ name instinctively, stepping forward to grasp his arm as he flinched a little. The bullet soared past his head and rage twisted George’s features as his uncle grasped his arm forcefully, pulling him away towards the doors that led inside. The crowd parted quickly to make way for them but Demelza wasn’t interested in George and his uncle. She turned to focus her attention on Ross, to go to him and check on him as well as berate him for the night’s events, yet when she turned she saw Ross wasn’t alone.  
Elizabeth spoke to him, words Demelza couldn’t hear as Ross tossed his pistol aside onto his coat. Demelza watched as Elizabeth took his face in her hands, checking him over for injuries, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Ross looked disinterested in her attentions, letting him turn his face this way and that to examine.  
“Stay here,” she said quietly, “I’ll fetch some bandages and warm water.”  
Without a second look, she turned and made her way inside through a side door. Ross sighed and looked at the gravel around his feet as if it would give him answers. He felt and saw nothing now, his mind felt too heavy, too full to process anything. This was the post-combative fog he always swam through after a fight, a confrontation. It was an odd mix of relief, of the rush of adrenaline leaving his body and a desire for release, to slump lifelessly against something, preferably his bed.  
“I see you ‘ave no need of me anymore, now you got your own nurse.”  
Ross didn’t need to look up to know that Demelza was speaking to him. He felt her presence next to him like a bright star radiating a painful heat. Sadness filled his eyes as he lifted them to look at her. He already knew the expression that would mangle her features, the narrow eyes, the pursed lips, the look of hatred that she so often espoused when he humiliated himself and in turn, her.  
“Demelza, I—“  
“To fight like….dogs in front of everyone! At a ball, Ross! You left me in there, you told me we would have a quiet evenin’ and I come out to this. What did you ‘ope to achieve by such a….silly, childish act?! An’ to think common folk are called animals!”  
Ross made to step towards her, but Demelza tightened her grip on her fan, stepping backwards. Her red dress melted into her rapidly flushing skin and flaming hair. She herself seemed to be blazing fiercely like a beacon in the middle of the pitch darkness, too hot to touch.  
“I’ll await you at ‘ome. When you’re done ‘ere, that is.”  
With a final look of contempt, Demelza turned and stormed off back towards the now empty entrance. The crowd had made their way inside after the evening’s spectacle and Ross was alone in the middle of the garden. The fountain trickled prettily in front of him, perhaps an Aphrodite with cascading locks; he couldn’t see clearly. It was oddly silent now, the only sound the water and the wind passing by his ears, billowing his shirt sleeves around him until the heat from his skin had cooled. He’d made a fool of himself in front of everyone, he knew that and he didn’t care. Demelza cared, evidently. He should have restrained himself for her sake but his shoulders slumped as all the weight from them tumbled down into his legs and feet and into the floor. He never did have any restraint where Elizabeth or George were concerned.  
“Sit.”  
Elizabeth’s voice was calm but firm behind him and it was as if his limbs moved of his own accord at her instruction. He walked to the fountain and sat on the ledge, looking down into the water. Elizabeth sat next to him with a cloth and a small bowl of warm water in her hand. She set them down on her lap and reached forward to take Ross’ face in her hands, turning it to look at her. He looked down again, wanting to close his eyes and feel the softness of her hands, the tenderness in the way she touched him. He raised his eyes to look at her as she doused the cloth in the warm water and wrung it out in the fountain, dabbing at his temple. She was emotionless, her beautiful features passive and her eyes almost lifeless as she cleaned the blood. Ross searched her face again for some sign of feeling, of an indication of her thoughts. She gave none.  
“Where is Francis?” he murmured quietly, attempting to lock eyes with her.  
“He was watching your exhibition and was concerned as to the cause of the argument. When informed of it by my mother, he decided to leave.”  
Ross raised his eyebrows as Elizabeth moved the cloth to his jaw, carefully cleaning his face of sweat.  
“Francis has left you here?”  
“I regret to inform you that Francis was very drunk,” she replied calmly, “perhaps he had quite forgotten his wife.”  
Ross stared at Elizabeth incredulously, surprised at the relaxed, smooth tone of her voice. She made slow progress over his face, gently wiping the soft cloth over his jaw and chin. She doused it in water and wrung it out again methodically, raising it to his nose, wiping the blood away. She didn’t speak until she’d finished, setting the bowl and cloth aside and looking at him. Her eyes were unsettlingly direct, a gaze she hardly ever used to look at Ross; it was usually the other way around. Ross met her look with one just as intense, but Elizabeth didn’t back down.  
“You had no right to make such a show of yourself with George.”  
Ross’ face relaxed into a mask of shock, unable to process what he was hearing. George had been dishonouring her in front of him and he was being blamed for fighting with him. He understood he’d made a scene but she of all people should know it was for a purpose.  
“He was speaking dishonourably of you. And of Demelza. What did you expect me to do?!” asked Ross, blazing at her suddenly.  
She flinched at the sound of his raised voice and he instantly regretted it. She returned his speech with a similar fire in her eyes, however, swallowing the painful lump in her throat to address him.  
“You had no right to do so. Francis would have settled it.”  
Ross snorted derisively, unable to comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. And once he opened his own mouth, he couldn’t stop, surprised at the spite in his own voice. He didn’t know where it had come from or to what end he was utilising it apart from to make Elizabeth’s delicate features contort in hurt and shock.  
“Francis would have settled it? Have you lost your senses? Francis, who’s been sitting at the card table all night drinking reserves of Sir Hugh’s whisky, would have settled it? Have you lost your mind, Elizabeth? Do you think Francis cares what a man says about you, dishonourable or not? Do you think Francis would risk his life for you?!”  
Elizabeth trembled with the force of his words. He was standing up now, gesticulating and looking down at her. He was talking about how Francis would do or not do certain things, yet in that moment, he looked more like Francis than Ross. The raised voice, the gestures, the patronising tone, the rhetorical questions. Elizabeth’s eyes burned with anger and tears, she never thought Ross of all people would act like he had with George, speak to her like this. It was like she didn’t know him, like a different man was standing in front of her.  
“You dare to denigrate Francis in those terms? My husband loves me, Ross, and if that thought bothers you then I suggest you leave.”  
Her voice broke a little but she held her gaze in determination, making Ross pause in his vitriol and look down at her. Tears spilled again, fresh and hot down her cheeks as her eyes blazed in anger and Ross felt like snorting again.  
“Yes, he loves you so much he’s left you here.”  
“Enough.”  
She stood up and inhaled slowly, reaching up into her messed coiffure to pull out the pins holding it all in place. They tinkled one by one onto the stones beneath as each curl unwound itself and finally, she grasped the two ridiculous pink feathers jammed into her hair and tore them out hatefully, letting them float to the floor serenely. Ross watched her as she looked up from the sparkling mess of pins on the floor.  
“The way you….snarled at him, like an animal. Such…rabid brutality. Have you no shame? Making an exhibition of yourself in front of society? What happened to you?”  
Ross scoffed quietly as he stepped back from Elizabeth, his arms limp as he leaned down to retrieve his coat and neck cloth from the floor. He straightened to lock eyes with Elizabeth through the dark curls falling across his dark eyes. She watched him in confusion, expecting some sort of explanation, some sort of reaction. His voice was soft and slightly amused as he spoke.  
“The Elizabeth I knew, she would not have cared a jot about making an exhibition of herself. It seems the society you treasure so much as changed us both. Me, for lack of exposure to it and you for too much exposure. I am a soldier, Elizabeth. I went to war. I’ve come back with my edges roughened. I’m not the boy you saw on that horse in that apple orchard.”  
“And I’m not the girl who dropped that basket of apples when she watched you leave.”  
Elizabeth leaned down to pick up the pink feathers with her delicate fingers and turned wordlessly, barely making a sound as she walked over the grass. Ross sat down on the ledge again. The night was still and clear, the water trickled behind him and he could hear the sound of his own breathing acutely. It shook and appeared in front of him in small, disparate clouds that vanished into the night air. For some reason, his head began to pound. He picked up the cloth Elizabeth had used to wipe his face and pocketed it.


End file.
